


Becoming

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Body Horror, Gen, Medical Trauma, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These colors are a blossoming of beauty with roots of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet from a writing workshop I attended at Norwescon 2015. 
> 
> I drew a random prompt: a songfic based on Smile.dk's song "Butterfly" (made famous by Dance Dance Revolution) 
> 
> Here is the song (with lyrics): youtube.com/watch?v=T9sz9QzsWXc

You promise me that the pain I am experiencing will be fleeting, that the suffering these needles and tubes are causing me will diminish – whether it’s when they are removed, or whether it’s merely when my body grows accustomed to being pierced by them. My beauty, you insist, will make all the agony worth it, because that is always what beauty does.  


I ask, Was I not beautiful to you before? You reply that my beauty was in my potential, in what you saw me _becoming_. What I was when I came to you was beyond your control, but now that you have me, you can feed the caterpillar, and you can whisper through the chrysalis, so that when I hatched, I would follow _your_ nature.  


I can’t see what you’ve done to me yet. Everything aches, and I cannot even think of twisting at the waist, of looking back over my shoulder, to catch a glimpse of what has happened to me now that you’ve decided to keep me in your net. You will not provide me a mirror. You tell me it’s because I’m still not fully healed, and still not able to control and manipulate my new features. It would be discouraging to see myself still imperfect, still inconsistent with your vision. But I saw a reflection, just a blur of color, in the riveted stainless steel of this chamber: green, black, and blue. These colors are a blossoming of beauty with roots of pain, sunk into my body. The wires and tubes that emerge from your machines converge on me, but the invasions that I can see, on my arms and into my guts, are not nearly as horrifying as those which disappear from my view, the insertion points that I cannot see, can only feel and imagine.  


Science has facilitated your endeavor, but you are no scientist. You are a samurai, a close attendee to the nobility, always on guard. But your bushido is yours alone, and your tenets are restricted to what you consider to be the highest moral aim – your own happiness.  


I told myself I was searching for a man, but I know now I have found a monster. I am your little butterfly.  


 


End file.
